Leading a 23 Day Rafting Expedition Through the Grand Canyon

Pre and Post-Trip Musings

Embarking on this life-altering expedition has left me struggling to encapsulate such a profound experience with mere words. As I stare at my film photos (above), developed the other night in a friend’s darkroom, the mystery and intrigue of the canyon washes over me once more. The memories, like an elusive dream, have become distant, almost as if my brain can only access the negative strips.

Since I’ve been back I’ve mostly just found myself bewildered by the contrasts and complexities of navigating a bridge between two worlds. One world contained, deep inside the Earth, where river, rock, stars and sky all speak the same language. Another world, sprawling, unending, where cars, highways and street signs pave the way. Some days I am inspired by the trip, energized to ignite my soul-fueled businesses. Other days I am drained; what is the point of this repetitive monotony again? But mostly I am just grateful that (mostly) untouched places like this still exist, and that we are lucky enough to experience them in this lifetime.

Did you know that the Grand Canyon was a hair shy of becoming a reservoir, like Lake Powell and Lake Meade, the man-made swimming pools that border it upstream and down stream? Following the construction of Glen Canyon Dam in the early 1960s, there were plans for two additional dams that would have further tamed the Colorado River, making it one of the most controlled rivers in the world. Fortunately, a coalition of lobbyists, environmentalists, and journalists garnered public support, leading to the eventual shutdown of the entire project. While the Grand Canyon was fortunate enough to stay intact, many neighboring areas succumbed to the encroachment of pools and speed boats, powered by hydroelectric dams that now supply electricity to half of the Southwest. These insights, gleaned from ‘The Emerald Mile,’ a book I devoured post-trip, shed light on the canyon’s captivating history.

I spent 18 months preparing for this trip. In that time, a vision began to come to life amid an ever-changing backdrop of participants signing up and dropping off, payments and refunds, a switch in permit holders, and the organic evolution of my own vision for the trip. As the designated TL (Trip Leader), I spent countless hours researching, menu planning, conversing with the outfitter, managing finances, facilitating gear acquisition, and navigating a myriad of other responsibilities. Although Ben's prior experience and my enthusiasm for organizing retreats provided a solid foundation, the road to making this trip a reality wasn't without its bumps.

Despite a few challenges, I found myself, along with 13 other humans, 45 miles north of Flagstaff at Lee’s Ferry, the gateway to or our 22 day excursion into the heart of the Grand Canyon. My heart fluttered with anxiety, excitement and the weight of anticipation. My swirling emotions mirrored the tumultuous waters we were about to encounter.

An excerpt from my journal on Day 1:

“Today, the canyon fully humbled me. It’s whippin’ me into shape REAL good. I am surprised by how overwhelmed I have been with the amount of STUFF I have… It’s a surrendering of control that I didn’t even realize my soul needed.”

After 18 months of meticulous preparation, Day 1 unveiled the full immensity of what we were undertaking. Those first few hours brought a few stressors, including a stern talk from the ranger, misplaced gear, and a hurried orientation. However, as the hours became days, my sense of freedom gradually loosened up. We had magically found ourselves deep inside a crack in the Earth, descending one of the most formidable rivers on the planet. In that environment, how could one not feel fully alive?

Trials and Tribulations of 22 days on the river

The Flip

Ben and I meticulously curated the group that would accompany us for our month-long journey into the backcountry. We entered the canyon with a stoke level equivalent to rocket ship blasting off into the sky. But on Day 2, our excitement quickly pivoted when one of our five rafts flipped in House Rapid, the first class 7 on the Colorado (it may be worth noting that the National Park System employs a unique 1-10 scale to measure the intensity of rapids, deviating from the standard 1-5 scale used elsewhere in the world). Right away, our group was put to the test.

Despite the initial shock, we swiftly located our z-drag kit and sprinted upstream to the upside-down raft, clashing against the jagged rocks lining a turbulent eddy. At first we were in good spirits, considering! It was early enough in the afternoon and we had plenty of sun on our side. However, as time wore on, our attempts to flip the raft became a prolonged struggle. Traditional z-drag efforts failed, resulting in sliced webbing on the sharp rocks beneath us. We tried pushing and pulling from both sides, but that posed a risk to everyone involved. The thing was just too damn heavy (an estimated 4,000lb loaded down with all our gear)!

In a decisive move, we finally decided to de-rig the entire boat. The image of Tyler, waist-deep in the water, throwing beer cans and dry bags and musical instruments up on shore, will be forever engrained in my memory. We eventually lightened the load enough to flip the raft using a single rope and sheer manpower. The entire situation caused us to forge an immediate and substantial bond. We got to camp late that night, having rowed a few small rapids in the dark, cold and relieved. The experience laid the groundwork for a meaningful fireside conversation that night. Each group member shared a positive and constructive tidbit, helping us integrate and highlight areas for improvement.

Key insights: 1. Always designate a leader in high-stress scenarios, ensuring a clear line of communication for task delegation and 2. Keep it simple (in the end, a single rope did the trick). Needless to say, we were highly prepared after that, and we never flipped again!

The Intergalactic Red Wall Whiffle Ball Game

Our first encounter with other humans outside our group occurred on Day 5 at Red Wall Cavern, where higher waters had carved a deeply gorged cavern into the red canyon walls. Arriving at 11 am, we had the whole place to ourselves until, three hours later, two sizable groups appeared around the bend—a total of 32 people, kayakers from Oregon and rafters from the Midwest.

After spending multiple days frolicking around in our own little world — sunbathing naked, group song and dance, paddling around on the Mothership — we had to remember how to interact with the outside world. Right off the bat, they challenged us to a game of whiffle ball, and despite some initial reluctance from our crew, Rachel and Tyler rallied us, leading to a surprising 4-3 victory! There were in disbelief and even commented on our non-athletic appearance, only adding to our satisfaction. We ended the encounter on a high note—a synergized crew!

Watch the video below for a glimpse into the legendary game.

Thunder River: A Hike That Shook Me to My Core

We had been hiking slot canyons and waterfalls the entire trip, but on Day 14, we embarked on a hike that will live in my memory forever. It was a small crew on this day — four of us, all Richmonders and good friends. We set shuttle and took off from our campsite later than we had hoped, around 11:30am, unaware that the hike was actually 10 miles, unlike the 7 listed in the guidebook.

After hiking up a gorgeous waterfall and through a slot canyon, Ben continued to lead us up the seemingly endless rock alley switchback trail, and into the ‘Throne Room’ where we encountered the other members of our party who had hiked the trail in the opposite direction. They had stars in their eyes, insisting we just wait for what lay ahead.

“YOU just wait!” We said, knowing they were unaware their version of the hike ended at yet another slot canyon, arguably one of the most stunning yet. We wished each other luck and went on our merry way.

With a sense of anticipation, the four of us hiked up and up, over a plateau, through a desert meadow and over a saddle, experiencing the vastness of the land as the canyon opened up around us. Finally, Thunder River waterfall made herself known to us: an enormous stream of water thundering out of a massive hole in side of the desert wall from deep inside the earth, creating a luscious oasis of trees, plants, and ecosystems in her wake.

We scurried down to bathe under her pristine, ice-cold waters. There was fresh mint growing at the top. Slightly delirious from hours hiking in the desert sun, we were giddy with disbelief, cramming the mint into our mouths and our pockets and our water bottles. A desert oasis! Unfortunately we knew we didn’t have long to linger - the clock was ticking, we still had to hike down and then row two miles down to the camp site. Down we went, marveling at the cascading falls the entire way. As we traversed over and around each bend, the sun continued to set until it was completely dark — we trudged on. Our headlamps lighting the path, we somehow managed to keep our cool, as we descended a seemingly steeper and steeper trail, down toward the Colorado, which we could hear but not see. We trusted the light of the stars and the sounds of the waves smashing against the rocks to carry us back home safely. Back on the riverbank, we found our boat we had stashed earlier that day with no trouble. Liz and I curled up in the front and gazed up at the magnificent Milky Way shimmering between the canyon walls as Ben rowed us through the narrowest part of the canyon. We arrived back at our campsite, hungry, exhausted and incredulous, to a dinner of steak and potatoes. Thank you, kitchen crew! Whew, what a day.

Thunder River Waterfall as seen from beneath her highest tier

The Nudity

And lastly, I’d like to address the elephant in the room - the nudity. My parents and grandparents and aunts and uncles have all heard us joke that we needed to make a PG album to share the photos with them, which left everyone questioning - what exactly could be on those x-rated photographs?

In reality, our nudity was a representation of the comfort and freedom we felt while floating through one of the most magical rivers on the planet, inside a deep crack in the Earth. Let me break it down for you. Firstly, comfort is key — nobody likes wearing wet clothes. Getting soaked again and again, on rapid after rapid, continually changing our clothes began to feel superfluous (not to mentioned we only had a limited number of outfits). Skin dries in an instant in the desert, and a wet run can be the difference between a really great day and a really horrible day. So, we were naked as much as possible, mostly ruled by the sun.

However, shedding layers signified more than just a response to the scorching sun; it became a metaphor for stripping away inhibitions, embracing vulnerability, and immersing ourselves fully in the raw beauty of the wilderness.

The takeaway

An excerpt from my journal on Day 3:

“Her majesty is truly unmatched. She knows the patterns that are engrained in our bodies — and she’s known them since long before our bodies, or any bodies, even graced this Earth. We follow her. Canyon of all Canyons, my prayer and wish to you is that you show us the way.”

In conclusion, this expedition was not just a river journey; it was a rewiring of the soul. Over the course of three weeks, I learned to trust the river's flow, surrendered my tendency to control, traced new grooves in my mind and rewrote narrative and patterns engrained deeper than I knew. The Grand Canyon, with its untamed grandeur, became a catalyst for personal growth, resilience, and a renewed commitment to the change our world so desperately needs.